Chapter 53
I lowered my eyes and froze, feigning a complete lack of emotion, initiative, intellect, and interest in what was happening. Drenched, with icicles of hair clinging to my face, my clothes splitting at the seams and becoming too short, my toes tearing through my boots.
He froze, but carefully watched what was happening around him.
The rain stopped. The cloud driven by the Storm was dispersed by it. The sun came out again.
Suo's carpet floated gently toward the crater. Both women landed on the sand. The Summers approached. Storm arrived. Hank emerged from the depths of the X-jet.
Carpets carrying mages and Externals arrived. Their passengers descended to the ground, carefully examined the crater, and approached Suo, dividing into two camps.
A respectable, gray-haired old man of oriental appearance, with long hair pinned up with a wooden hairpin and a long gray beard, spoke for the magicians.
"I testify that the Treaty has not been violated," he said, stepping forward, and then returning to the others.
Selina stepped forward to speak after the Externals.
"The agreement is not broken," she confirmed, then took a step back. After these words, there was a general bow, after which almost all the mages and Externals departed through portals. Only two mages remained, as did two Externals. They were Selina and Candra.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Selina Suo said. Kandra nodded in agreement. "What do you think we should do with him now?" she asked, glancing at me.
"I don't know," Suo lowered her gaze, "I'll take you to Kamar Taj. Maybe with time some kind of personality will form."
"If you want, I can take him with me," Kandra said.
"Why do you need it?" Suo asked in surprise.
"He can be useful as a breeder even without a personality. Strong genes would be very useful to the Assassins' Guild," External shrugged, carefully examining me, particularly my body. My "stone face" had just gone up a couple more levels.
"I'll think about it," Suo finished me off. I wanted to give all three of them a good slap at that moment, so much so that my hands itched. But I held back. I'd had enough Externals for today. We barely got through one. And we'll deal with Suo later. As they say, "we'll talk at home."
"Well, good luck," Selina said goodbye. Kandra nodded. The remaining mages opened portals through which the ladies departed. Then the mages themselves departed through other portals.
By this point, Eric, who had dug himself out, found the courage to approach us. He didn't look up at his wife. Nightcrawler, who had been hiding somewhere, "jumped out" with the still unconscious Professor in his arms. Gina approached, revealing that she had also been there, coordinating the X-Team's actions.
"Will you get there on your own?" Suo asked. Eric nodded, glanced at me, and lifted the X-Jet into the air. Suo nodded back, grabbed me by the sleeve of my jacket, which had split at the seam, opened a portal, and led me away to Kamar Taj.
We got off right at her house, which was now empty. I mean, there weren't any of the students usually hanging around. She let me go and turned to the shelf with books and tomes.
I grinned, immediately put my poker face back on, and pinched my wife's butt. It didn't hurt. She spun around and slapped my hand. I can't describe her expression; it was too much of a mixture.
"Heh," I offered the dumbest smile I could muster. She peered at my face carefully. Apparently, she didn't see what she wanted, and turned back to the bookshelf.
It was reckless of her. Why? Because it's only "local time" that a day hasn't passed since we last saw each other. For me, more than ten years have flown by. Ten years of being faithful to my woman without any hope of ever seeing her again, seeing her only on posters in my room. I miss her. And now I'm a "stupid animal"; I can do anything.
So, when Suo turned toward the bookcase, I gently slid forward, pressing her against it, letting my hands roam freely over her body. Without roughness, without fuss, carefully and tenderly. She tried to free herself, but given our disparity in physical strength, the only thing she managed was to turn to face me.
She looked into my eyes, and I felt a touch on my mind. There was no point in imitating the Beast, since my "catdog" never touched or frightened her, and without that, recognizing my identity from the familiar thought imprint was easy.
She opened her mouth to say something, but I stopped her by pressing my finger to her lips. I said, "Shhh!" and, removing my finger, covered those lips with a kiss.
"So you're alive," Suo stated, lying on my shoulder on the soft floor of her room, "and El Sabah Nur couldn't destroy your mind." I silently stroked her breast with the hand on whose shoulder her head lay. My other hand was tucked under my own head. I hadn't said anything all this time, except for that short "Shhhh!" I didn't say anything now either. I don't know what to say. "But you died again. For the third time already. You made me worry again. After all, Nur wasn't lying—you'd been dead for over two hours. Your heart wasn't beating. I felt it. I searched for you, but couldn't find you, because he had a protection against movement and observation in his citadel. Until Howlett called, I didn't know what to think at all. I was beside myself… You really scared them there, by the way. They've never seen you like this before." She fell silent again, and I didn't even start talking. Why? I just feel good with her. With and without any Beast.
A choice. At that moment, when I was suspended between bodies, between lives. There was no choice at all. Everything was crystal clear. Complete and elementary: here she is, but there she is not. So what choice could there even be? "Dzhugashvili is already here, in Kamar Taj," she noted. "Awaiting a meeting." I remained silent, not interrupting my work. "Are you ready for her?" Am I ready? Probably. I wasn't ready at the Battle. But after the "journey," perhaps. I don't know what awaits me there, but I won't run.
It turns out ten years in the "real" world haven't gone unnoticed. They've changed me more than I thought. They've given me a confidence I never had before. Calmness. Balance. It's a lot.
"Would you mind telling me what happened to you?" Suo asked, not particularly expecting an answer. Maybe I will. Someday. But not now. I don't feel like talking right now. I just want to lie there. She sighed, but didn't press the issue.
I still had to get up after a couple of hours, even though it wasn't much time. It would have been nice to lie down a bit longer, to recover from the mental strain of the wild, crazy day. It only seemed like everything had happened so easily and naturally. No. It certainly wasn't. Just being next to a raving, psychotic, maniac vivisectionist, capable of erasing you from reality with a single twitch of his eyebrow. No, he didn't even need to move for that to happen. Just thinking would have been enough. It's a serious test for any psyche. And then there was your brother, for whom you worry almost more than for yourself, and yet there was no way to help. And friends, students, who were slammed down on the table, lest the Externality, who would simply kill them all, do the same for you. And then there was your beloved, to whom you couldn't even give a sign...
I'm afraid to even imagine what this day cost Suo, and how many hours it meant for her beyond the allotted twenty-four. After all, she had to gather the Observers, convince each of them, negotiate with each one, organize and transport the "X"s to the location, and calculate the specific External six moves ahead.
And to do all this while being completely certain that it's all too late anyway, that her husband is already dead... Suo is a strong woman. But even after such an ordeal, she needs to rest and relax.
But we all got up anyway. Suo rewound the hours we'd wasted on each other with her sparkle, transported me through a portal to the New York house, where I washed up, and she helped me change and comb my hair.
When I approached the mirror, I almost recoiled, having never really looked at myself properly since the "transformation." Staring back at me was the iconic Sabretooth. Just like they'd drawn him in Marvel. A gorgeous mane of straw-colored hair down to the middle of his back, gorgeous shaggy sideburns, gorgeous wild eyebrows, a noticeably sharper overall feral quality to his features, sharper than before, fangs that made every smile "irresistible." And his gaze, even neutral, exudes danger, menace, treachery, and sadism. I don't know what exactly gives him this impression; maybe the shape of his eyes has changed slightly, or maybe something else.
I'd better smile less often now. No need to increase the number of stutterers and prematurely gray-haired people in my circle. Yeah, feigning the meekness of a Zen Buddhist monk will be a bit difficult now.
Changes have affected my body as well: I've grown taller, reaching just over two meters. My shoulders have broadened proportionally. My muscles have bulked up again, though not dramatically. My fingers have lengthened. Consequently, the claws hidden within them have also lengthened slightly. I've also developed claws on my feet, also retractable. My strength, speed, flexibility, reaction time, and coordination have yet to be tested separately. But it's already clear that they haven't remained at the same level.
Clothes... My entire old wardrobe had become hopelessly small. It's no wonder that during the "transformation," all my clothes had cracked and split at the seams, and my toes were sticking out of my shoes like the Wolf from "Well, Just You Wait!" But magic is a very practical thing in everyday life, even if it continues to evoke in me a reflexive, almost overwhelming aversion.
After Suo's treatment, my new figure fit like a glove in plain brown military-style pants with a belt buckle depicting the grin of a saber-toothed tiger, "cowboy" boots with iron-clad toes, a beige shirt unbuttoned at the top three buttons, and a brown leather jacket lined with fur. The fur matched my hair. It gave me an aggressive look. Two days ago, I would have worn something more subdued and even tweaked my hair to make it look more "human." But now I had no time for that, so I dressed to match my new face and calmed down.
Again the portal to Kamar Taj and walk to the appointed meeting place.
There were three of them. Stalin was true to his habits: he was wearing khaki military trousers, boots, a greatcoat without insignia over his jacket, a peaked cap, and his ever-present pipe. He was a robust man of medium height, athletic build, with a magnificent moustache, a slightly hooked nose, and slicked-back hair.
He was accompanied by two people: Captain Romanova, whom I'd already seen at the Battle, wearing clothes that most closely resembled Ksanka's from The Elusive: the same black leather jacket, the same belt over the jacket with a holster attached, high boots, a skirt, and a red headscarf. I didn't know the other man. He was of medium height, blond, and wore an officer's field uniform without insignia, with an AKMS slung over his shoulder and a full four-magazine pouch on his wide officer's shoulder strap.
"Hello, Joseph," Suo said first when we stopped two steps away from each other.
"Hello, Teacher," he responded politely, with his famous accent, which had softened considerably over the years. "Hello, Comrade Creed," this complex man said, extending his hand to shake mine. I was polite and shook it. Neither he nor I attempted to demonstrate strength or compete in the firmness of our handshake. It was simply a polite handshake, nothing more. "You were described to me somewhat differently," he remarked. I remained silent.
"A minor conflict with El Sabah Nur," Suo answered for me. "Because of that, we had to postpone the meeting by almost a day. I hope it didn't cause any major inconvenience?"
"It's okay, it's nice to sometimes reminisce about my youth and visit one of my Alma Maters. Judging by the fact that the outrage in the world has ceased, is the conflict resolved?" he asked softly. Generally, this man always spoke softly, and his accent only added to his smoothness and a peculiar charm.
"Completely," Suo nodded. He nodded, confirming that he had accepted the answer and did not intend to continue the topic.
"First of all, I would like to thank you, Comrade Creed, for saving my life and the second chance you gave me," he said, pulling from his pocket and handing me the same half of the note I'd left at the old man's bedside many years ago. "Rest assured, I'm doing everything I can to justify such great trust." I took the paper from his hand and, without looking, stuffed it into my jacket pocket. I remembered what was written on it well; there was no need to reread it. "But I need your help," he said, drawing in smoke from his pipe. He then released it and only then continued, "You've already met with Comrade Romanova and her group. I was told your assessment of their training and potential. This is the first generation of children raised using your methods." At these words, Romanova couldn't keep her composure, and a mixture of surprise and understanding showed through her mask of impassivity. Apparently, my behavior at our first meeting finally made sense in her head. "There are three hundred of them," Joseph Vissarionovich finished his thought. He took another drag and blew out the smoke. But this time the silence lasted longer. I didn't ask anything, Suo didn't try to intervene in this strange conversation. I suspect she didn't have full information about my "artwork." She knew about the serum, but maybe she didn't know about the folder. "I made a mistake," he said after a while. "The boys showed too good results." He fell silent again. No one was in a hurry to intervene during this pause. "For seven years now, all kindergartens in the Soviet Union have been working according to your method. Three years since all the schools opened," he said and paused. He paused, then continued, "The eldest of the second generation are now eleven years old. They are already physically twice as strong and faster than trained adults. Adolescence will begin soon. A gift to Humanity could turn into Hell on Earth. "Have you read Comrade de Saint-Exupéry, Comrade Creed?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. My words were stuck in my throat. I wanted to answer, but I couldn't.
He nodded slightly to Romanova, then turned away and concentrated on his pipe and the mountain beauty surrounding us.
Romanova stepped forward and handed me something. I accepted it automatically, without even really thinking about it, so overwhelmed was I by the information I'd received and so disoriented.
It could have been a grenade from Hydra's stash; I would have grabbed it at that moment, too. But it wasn't a grenade. In some ways, it was worse than a grenade. It was a passport. A Soviet passport. I opened it. It had my black-and-white photograph, my date of birth, the year of birth—1762, and my place of birth—Bosville, Quebec, Canada. My citizenship was the USSR, a marriage registration stamp with Suo Creed, and the address of my house in the Paris suburbs was listed under my registration, except it didn't say "France"; it said "French ASSR." I reread those lines again, wondering if I'd misread something or overlooked something in the stamp, but no, it was exactly as I'd intended.
I looked up at Natasha in bewilderment. She correctly interpreted my gaze.
"This morning, the plenum of the newly formed Central Committee of the Communist Party of France decided to join the USSR. The country of France no longer officially exists. There is the French Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic." My mouth dropped open involuntarily at this news. "The spontaneous renunciation of nuclear weapons throughout the world has been very fortunate. Two hundred and ninety of my comrades are now helping the Central Committee of the Communist Party of France maintain order in the Republic." I glanced at Joseph Vissarionovich. He looked at me.
"We really need your help, Comrade Creed," he said, summing up the entire meaning of the revolution and the seizure of power in an entire country in one sentence. "Teacher," he said, saluting with his pipe. At this point, he considered the conversation over, shook my hand, and stepped back. Romanova also shook my hand and stepped back. Stalin bowed slightly to Suo, who returned the bow, and all three turned to leave.
And they left. About three hundred meters from the meeting place, two girls in camouflage and carrying batons, familiar to me from the Battle, were already waiting for them.
A minute later, it was as if the guests had never been there, and I, like a fool, kept staring at the brand new red passport in my hands.
Chapter 54
Somewhere in the desert, next to a huge lump of various metals lying on the yellow sand, a portal window opened, and a bald woman in the garb of a mage slowly emerged. She glanced around and strode confidently toward a crater visible nearby. Approaching it, the woman pulled out an ornate ornament from a chain around her neck, somewhat resembling a large eye.
The decoration glowed green, and the crater began to rapidly shrink until it vanished completely. In the center of the area that had formed in its place was a gray-skinned man, impaled on hundreds of metal stakes, writhing under invisible lightning strikes, glowing in red rays of unknown origin.
The bald woman nodded to herself and lowered her jewelry, after which she raised her free hand, around which yellow magic circles immediately began to glow and spin.
The gray-skinned man, frozen in time, began to shrink rapidly. A soap bubble formed around him, quickly acquiring the density of glass. Finally, the entire composition shrank to the size of a Christmas tree ornament.
The bald woman nodded again in satisfaction. The circles faded, and the green light from the ornament ceased to shine. She walked over to the resulting ball and picked it up.
"Long-lived people have a thing for promises," she sighed. "I suppose a second of death, stretched out over tens of thousands of years, is 'painful and long' enough to avoid being labeled a windbag?" she said to herself, then pocketed the ball, opened the portal, and stepped through. A minute later, only the footprints in the sand remained as a reminder of what had happened.
Two weeks had passed since that conversation. I sat across from Howard Stark's desk, gloomy and poorly rested. The office owner himself, meanwhile, was buried deep in the papers from the folder I'd brought him. The folder was thick. There were a lot of papers. I'd been working on it for the past two weeks, using meditative techniques to draw from my memory the new knowledge I'd managed to acquire "at home."
I was already myself: my hair was cut in the style I was accustomed to, I was clean-shaven and dressed neatly, without being particularly pretentious, in the right size.
And also gloomy and thoughtful. A passport in the name of Victor Creed lay in the inside pocket of his jacket, along with plane tickets to Moscow tucked inside. Two tickets, one passport. But I think Suo will figure out what to do with this herself to avoid problems. Money and magic will help her. The simple solution: asking for the same passport as mine, isn't for her. The Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension can't have citizenship in just one country. That's not right.
"Victor, this is amazing," Howard managed to force himself to emerge from the papers. "This is much better than what you brought us last time! This is years of work!" I remained silent. There was no point in responding to this statement. "I think we'll be able to begin production in three to five years. The first financial transfers through your scheme with Oscorp have already begun. We can get to work," I nodded and rose from my seat, putting on my hat. "Are you leaving already?" he asked, surprised. I nodded. My reticence had become a habit over the past two weeks. "Well, good luck then," he said, holding out his hand, confused. I shook his hand, nodded again, and left the office.
A car was already waiting downstairs. The very same one I'd bought right after Suo and I moved to the city. I climbed into the backseat, handed the driver a piece of paper with the address on it, and leaned back sullenly. The journey ahead was long.
I mentally reviewed everything I'd managed to accomplish during this time. It hadn't been much. I'd simply gotten my affairs in order and closed out any remaining matters, like the conversation with Eric and the arrangements regarding the New York property.
Eric. Eric was very happy to see me when I simply came to visit him. Alone. Knocked on the door already cut and shaved.
"Victor?" He was taken aback at first, opening the door. Then he looked around, apparently expecting to see Suo leading me by the hand, like she had in the desert. But I was alone. I raised an ironic eyebrow and curled my lips slightly into a smile. He, having finished his inspection of the area, peered into my face.
"Victor!" he said joyfully and rushed to hug me. I patted him on the back encouragingly, "I'm so glad you're okay!"
I shrugged, letting him go. He hurried, letting me into the house. "Raven! Darling! Set the table, Victor's coming to visit," he shouted into the house.
"Victor? Suo's here, right?" the blue-skinned girl asked in surprise, peeking out from the kitchen.
"No, just one," Eric couldn't help but smile.
"Alone?" She visibly tensed and peered into my face. I gave a short nod of greeting and smiled, keeping my lips closed, very aware of my fangs.
"So, are you okay?" Mystique turned specifically to me. I nodded and shrugged. I must say, she doesn't really like me. I don't know why. I don't think I've ever really bothered her. Or does she just think I'm a bad influence on Eric? Well, she should probably meet the canon Magneto if she thinks her husband is "not so good" in any way.
"That's right, Victor! That some gray-skinned idiot could kill him? It's not even funny," Eric grinned broadly. Hm. Apparently they never explained to the guy who Apocalypse is. Well, that needs to be fixed.
"Come in, sit down," Mystique nodded toward the seat near the kitchen table. It was Xavier's custom to have tea in the living room. Eric and Raven were a little more relaxed in that regard.
I didn't have to be invited twice. The woman began setting the table. Eric sat down next to me. Pietro "materialized" in the third chair.
"Hey, Uncle Vic," he greeted me in his usual style and eagerly reached for the bowl of candies that Raven had just placed on the table.
Soon Wanda came down from her room on the second floor.
After lunch, Eric and I sat on a bench in the gazebo in the backyard of his house.
"You haven't said a word today," Eric noted. "Did something happen?"
"Why did you go with the grey-skinned one?" I asked seriously, turning and looking him straight in the eyes.
"But how?" Eric hesitated slightly. "You were with him, and Charles…"
— Did you see that Charles is unconscious and I am out of my mind?
"Um... I saw it," Eric admitted. "That's why I went. I had to pull you out..."
— So you climbed into the grey-skinned one's "car" to "pull us out"?
"Um… Well… It was obvious that you had become stronger… bigger," Eric tried to justify himself.
"What about being out of my mind? That my brain isn't working? He really did burn my brains out completely. Or is it 'all about strength, no brains'?"
"Fine," he conceded. "I was stupid, I was stupid. Next time I'll keep in mind that you, too, can act under duress. On the other hand, if I hadn't done that, he would have simply killed me and that would be it. I had no defense against his power. You can't protect yourself with iron..."
"Why are you so happy?" I looked at him suspiciously.
"You can't even imagine how much use I got out of that 'machine,'" he said, beaming contentedly. "All my teeth are like new, even the ones they knocked out with a rifle butt at Auschwitz. I look ten years younger overall, and my hair is black again! I don't dye it anymore; it's my natural color now." He grabbed a strand of his hair, showing it to me. "And... well... my wife is happy, overall. Although she was a bit grumpy at first," he said, scratching the tip of his nose.
And indeed, I somehow didn't notice it before, but all my superhuman senses were telling me that Eric had become healthier, stronger, younger... Hmm. I wanted to give him a dressing down with a clear example of the negative consequences of over-confidence in me, but it turned out to be the opposite: Eric believed in his brother, followed his lead, and as a result, he became younger, stronger, and healthier. And the fact that he almost became a slave to a power-mad ancient lunatic was just a minor temporary inconvenience.
Well, that's it. I sighed heavily, admitting my pedagogical failure. Then I smiled sincerely. After all, he's my brother! If it's good for him, then why should I be dissatisfied?
"Good for you," I slapped him on the back encouragingly. Not too hard. I'm still not quite used to my newly increased physical strength, so I'm trying to be very careful to avoid any unexpected accidents. After all, jokes aside, Eric isn't the only one who's gotten healthier. I haven't tested the limits of my strength yet, but I suspect that while I could only flip the Tiger over before, now lifting him won't be much of a problem. "Keep up the good work, bro!"
"And I'm so glad," he smiled. "You're used to perfect health and beast-like strength, but for me, this is all new. It's as if I used to be a sick, half-paralytic old man, and now I've suddenly recovered..."
"Don't forget to train," I told him instructively. "Any 'superpower' can be flushed down your 'superbelly.'"
"Okay, brother. Will you train me?" he replied, playing the good boy.
"I'm leaving, Eric," I admitted to him, looking away.
"For how long? Where to? Found a new master?" he asked curiously.
"No. To the Union. For a long time," I answered his questions in reverse order.
"To the Union? Are you serious?" Eric frowned. "They'll figure you out in no time, you said so yourself..."
— I was... invited. Persistently. Convincingly.
"Yeah, if anything happens, we'll roll those 'convincing' ones into the asphalt! Yeah, we..."
"You don't understand," I interrupted Eric, who was starting to get heated up for no apparent reason. "They're not forcing me. And they're not blackmailing me. There's a task there that I MUST take care of. And I will take care of it. And you have a task like that, too. One that you, of all people, can and should do."
"What's the matter?" he asked inquisitively.
"The Gray One launched thousands of missiles into the sky. And all this metal is now hanging over our heads in various orbits. And among the harmless debris are thousands of nuclear warheads, armed. They need to be removed. All this garbage needs to be removed."
- Where?
"Think for yourself," I grinned, "You're the smart one, Professor Lansher."
"Oh, come on," Eric waved it off, "I'm serious."
"Seriously, if you want to sell it, sell it. Any country would love to have nuclear weapons these days. If you don't want to, throw it into the sun. But the orbit needs to be cleared. You could consult Charles. He's a smart guy, maybe he'll come up with something worthwhile."
"I'll definitely consult with you," Eric nodded.
"Okay, take care, brother," I hugged him and headed for the exit. I don't like long goodbyes.
"And you yourself," I heard his words behind me.
I didn't go far. Less than a block and stopped.
"Did you want to talk?" an unfamiliar woman in the casual clothes of a small office worker stopped in front of me.
Mystic. The disguise is almost perfect, but my nose can't fool her. Maybe it makes her nervous? But she's more relaxed around Charles, even though he can easily spot her under any mask.
"I did," I confirmed. Indeed, during the previous lunch, I had discreetly slipped her a piece of paper with precisely these words: "We need to talk."
"I'm listening," she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Kurt," I answered shortly, and she winced. "Are you going to tell him?" Mystique narrowed her eyes and tensed. If she had a tail, it would be thrashing the ground and her sides right now, illustrating her state.
"I sensed you were dangerous," she said slowly, "Even from our first meeting. You had such a keen eye." I remained silent, waiting for a specific answer to a specific question. "And how much do you know?"
"That's enough," I snapped. "So, are you going to do it?"
"I don't know," she looked away.
"Kurt's a good guy," I said. "He deserves the truth... and his mother."
"Will Eric understand?" she bit her lip.
"Better you than anyone," she suddenly jumped up and glared at me.
"You wouldn't dare!" Mystic hissed.
"I'm flying out today. That's your business," I shrugged. And then I stared straight into her eyes. And my gaze was very heavy. And very unpleasant. "And don't you dare raise your tail at me. Have you forgotten who I am? Let me remind you," she looked away and "pinned her ears."
"I remember," she answered dully, "I am not your enemy."
"Okay," I nodded and, turning around, walked away towards the car that was waiting for me around the corner.
It was in the morning. Before meeting Stark.
Now I was driving to the cemetery. To the grave of Abraham Erskine, an old friend I'd allowed to be killed. His wife and daughter remained living in New York. The government hadn't screwed them over: they'd been granted citizenship and were still paying a decent pension for the death of their breadwinner, though not a particularly large one. But with the Stark Industries shares I'd "bequeathed" to them in Abraham's name, before I fled to war to escape my conscience (and I'd prepared the "will" and the shares themselves before Erskine's death), it was enough for a normal, almost comfortable life. At the very least, it was enough to pay the mortgage on the house and the education of Esma and her children. Not millions, of course, but giving them millions would have been more dangerous. Anita, left without a husband, wouldn't have been able to cope with the millions. They would have been taken from her, one way or another.
And so, under my periodic supervision, their life wasn't all that bad. At least I wasn't ashamed of that.
Having reached the place, I got out of the car, leaving the driver inside, and moved between the rows of tombstones to a well-known place.
If he were alive today, what would he say about how I handled his discovery, his legacy? What would he tell me?
I stood at his grave and was silent. My soul was heavy.
That day, after meeting the Leader of the Peoples, Suo was silent for a long time. Then she asked questions. I answered only one: "What does this de Saint-Exupéry have to do with it?" "We are responsible for those we have tamed"—those were my only words that day. Only words, but they answered everything at once and yet explained...
"Are you going to the Union, Viktor?" Nicole asked, quietly approaching from the side. It would have been naive to think that purchasing tickets in the name of Viktor Ivanovich Creed with a Soviet passport would go unnoticed by the Director of SHIELD. I didn't expect it.
I nodded in answer to her question.
"Why? You ran away from there, right?" I simply shrugged. "Viktor, please explain to me what's going on. I'm not your enemy."
"We are responsible for those we have tamed," I repeated my thought out loud, frowning, "We are responsible for those…"
"I don't understand, Victor," Nicole sighed.
"Stalin," I said quietly, "I was the one who injected him with Erskine's serum in '51. And he somehow found out about it..."
"You're Stalin?" Nicole was astonished, even losing her train of thought. "Wait, wait, but how? Wait... Do you know the formula?" she insisted, not asked.
"Naturally," I said, still not looking up from the tombstone, "I was the chief assistant. I know what vita-rays are, too."
— But why Stalin? Why him?
"I'm Russian. And I've never hidden it. And Stalin... Stalin was the best thing that happened to my country since Rurik. You wouldn't understand."
"Why can't I understand this?" Nicole said indignantly.
"You're French. You defend America's interests," I shrugged.
— You yourself protect America's interests by investing in Stark Industries.
"You're wrong. Stark Industries is a private company founded by a friend of mine, owned by me, my brother, and Howard. There's not a single government dollar in it. The government doesn't own a single share. Only taxes. But we're already planning to move our main production facilities to China, and our capital, as well as our headquarters, to Switzerland. We'll lose money, of course, but the losses will be recouped in a couple of years."
- Are you serious?
"Quite," I shrugged. "The process has already begun. Stark Industries is no longer an American company. It's becoming a transnational corporation."
- But you were born in Canada and fought for America in the Revolutionary War...
— I'm Russian. And the war... I fought not for America, but against Britain.
"I didn't think you were interested in politics," Fury sighed.
"And I'm not interested," I shrugged again.
— But what about? Stark Industries, Stalin?
"Stark Industries is pure business, no politics. And Stalin... I promised Abraham I wouldn't let his discovery go to waste. And I didn't, I bet on Stalin. There was no one to bet on in America. And I don't like the Brits."
"Wait, you've been keeping a secret for so many years, and now you just tell me? Why?"
— Because the formula no longer has value.
"The Union reproduced the formula?" Fury frowned.
"No," I shrugged, "Although they have some work in that direction. As do you, I suppose."
"So why did the formula lose its value?" Nicole frowned even more.
— Because all children of the Union from three to eleven have Rogers' powers.
"Intelligence reported something similar, but no one believed them. Although, the secret detachment of three hundred men who staged a coup in France is almost certainly known."
"I'm a citizen of France, Nicole," I said, pulling out my red passport. "Formerly France. Now it's the French ASSR. Which means I'm now a citizen of the Union."
"So this whole coup, this entire complex, massive operation... was just for you?" Nicole froze, the scale of the intrigue beginning to dawn on her. I remained silent, as an answer wasn't required. "Viktor," she paused, then changed her tone, "I'm not your enemy. If you don't want to go, if it's under duress, I can protect you. A new identity, a new citizenship somewhere in Brazil or Australia... Just tell me. I can see you're not yourself. It's weighing on you."
"So that the Brazilian SSR or the Australian SSR would appear on the map?" I chuckled. "There are no nuclear weapons and there won't be any for at least a couple of years."
- You know about missiles too...
— I don't just know, I saw the one who launched them.
"Who is he?" Nicole said, standing at attention.
— El Sabah Nur. A thousand-year-old mutant, equal in power to some gods. And revered as a god in Ancient Egypt. His other name is Apocalypse.
"Is it because of him that you grew taller?" she asked. I nodded.
- And where is he now?
- Died.
— Just died?
"Well, I wouldn't call his death simple," I winced, remembering how terribly Apocalypse had screamed before Eric's iron stake had driven straight into his mouth. One of the stakes... "You can ask James. He was there too."
"Of course," she nodded, "But you didn't answer. I can protect you, Victor."
"Don't," I sighed. "Don't you understand, 'We are responsible for those we have tamed'! I am responsible… There is no coercion. France is simply a demonstration of what I will have to deal with. An illustration of the capabilities of my… students. I'm going to teach the New Generation of people, Nicole. I don't care about politics, but I created them, and I am responsible for them. That's why I'm going. Don't bother me, Nicole."
"I won't, Viktor," she gently placed her hand on my shoulder. And then on my head. "Will I be able to visit you?"
"If you want," I stroked her hair, "I'm telling you: I don't give a damn about politics."
"You've changed," she said quietly, "You've become softer…"
"Perhaps," I didn't argue, "Perhaps…"
Chapter 55
We were met at the airport by a girl in a light dress, fashionable at the time. Captain Romanova herself, a familiar face.
"Comrade Creed, Comrade Lee, welcome to the Soviet Union," she greeted us in English, as she was sure we both knew it. Both Bruce and I.
In Chinese it would be nice too, but I suspect she already has problems with Chinese.
Suo immediately told me she had no intention of wasting time flying around in "those mechanical monsters." That once I settled into my new position, she'd find me herself.
Well, I'll argue about something so trivial myself. I shrugged and went to Bruce Lee. I promised him an apprenticeship if he'd come with me to the Soviet Union. I didn't have time to tell him anything else, because he'd already agreed. And here we are in Russia. Or rather, in the Soviet Union.
"Bruce, this is Natasha Romanova. Natasha, this is Bruce Lee," I formally introduced the two.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Romanova," Bruce bowed politely. "From the way you move and the way you hold your hands, I can tell you're a serious practitioner of some kind of martial art. If it's not a secret, what kind?"
"Combat sambo and military hand-to-hand combat," I answered for her. "Natasha is a state security officer. She's just as physically strong as Steve."
"Oh!" Bruce exclaimed, "Will you allow me to take a couple of lessons from you then? I'd really like to see these styles."
"You'll have time to see it all," I chuckled. "Are you driving or should you take a taxi?"
"By car," she nodded, "Where are we going? To the Metropol?"
"Let's just go to Moscow first. We'll see the city and see the sights," I replied.
"Please follow me," she nodded.
In the car, Bruce tried to get Romanova to talk for a while, but she was quite reserved. Apparently, my presence was putting pressure on her. It's no wonder, given my size, my general brutality, and my lack of a clear understanding of what exactly to expect from me. I suspect they gave her a folder of information on me to look through before the mission, and I'm certainly not the Pink Pony, talking about friendship and shitting rainbows. I committed more than my share of atrocities during the war behind German lines, especially when I witnessed the Nazis "entertaining" the population of captured territories. And anyway, I was permanently out of my mind during that period.
And my comrades from intelligence and the NKVD probably managed to document and file at least a third of my works in detail.
As we were driving through the city proper, I saw a woman and her son standing on the sidewalk. An ordinary woman, an ordinary boy, about ten years old, by the looks of him. They were standing near a soda machine, quenching their thirst.
"Stop here," I said, tapping the driver on the shoulder. It turned out that Natasha was sitting in the front seat next to the silent and unintroduced driver, while Bruce and I were in the back. The driver complied without question. "Natasha, do you have your ID?" I asked her in Russian.
"A crust?" she asked in surprise.
"Certificate," "Password," "Mandate," "Identity Card"? I patiently listed the synonyms, hoping that at least one of them would be clear to her. "Something that can calm an agitated and frightened citizen?"
"Will your KGB captain's ID card do?" she said, pulling out a small, burgundy rectangle of a classic Soviet ID card and showing it to me.
"It should be," I shrugged and got out of the car. I headed straight for the boy and, stopping a step away from him, crouched down.
"Hey, kid," I said to him. "Good soda?" The boy blinked at me, confused and a little frightened. But his fear was nothing compared to his mother's. I understand her perfectly: a black, official-looking Volga pulls up next to her in broad daylight, and a two-meter-tall, wardrobe-like, brutal-looking foreigner, judging by his clothes, tumbles out and pesters his son with strange questions. Horrible! And as luck would have it, there's not a single policeman around.
Romanova quickly realized my previous questions weren't just random, so she ran around the car and hurried toward us. Reaching the woman, she carefully showed her her open ID and quickly whispered something in her ear. The boy looked at his pale mother, who nodded encouragingly and gave him a strained smile.
"Delicious," he replied. "Would you like some?" he handed me the glass.
"Thank you," I smiled at him affectionately. "You better drink it yourself, I'll buy myself a full glass later: see how big I am? I need a lot. You don't have that much. What's your name?" And a brave fellow—my smile is something else, not for the faint of heart.
"Fedya," he answered.
— And I'm Victor. And how old are you, Fyodor?
"It will be eleven in the fall," he answered with a touch of pride.
"You're so big now," I clicked my tongue. "Do you go to the movies, Fedya?"
"I'm walking," he answered.
"How wonderful!" I marveled. "Have you seen any Bruce Lee movies? They're not banned here, I hope?" I turned to Natasha.
"No. There was a decision like that at one point in the Central Committee, but Joseph Vissarionovich personally overturned it. Three months ago. So now they're enjoying a resurgence of popularity," she explained at length, like a real-life guide to an important foreigner. Fedya nodded in agreement.
"Good films," he stated authoritatively.
"Would you like to meet the real Bruce Lee?" I winked at the guy.
"Of course I do," the boy's eyes lit up. And relief began to dawn in his mother's eyes: a famous foreign actor was just being driven around Moscow, and he'd decided to chat with a passerby. Surely he had such a whim? At least it was clear where the KGB captain was from. And the big guy was probably a translator. It was just a matter of life, nothing dangerous, so he could calm down and even smile timidly.
"Bruce, come here," I waved my hand and called out loudly in English. He didn't keep us waiting. He got out of the car and walked over to us. Fedya stared in admiration at the movie hero standing before us in the flesh. "Bruce, this is Fedya. He's seen your films and would like to meet you."
"I'm very glad," the Chinese man bowed politely to the boy and his mother. "Do they show my films in the Soviet Union?" he looked at me, slightly surprised.
"They show it," I nodded affirmatively to him, without going into details, after which I turned back to the boy and switched to Russian.
- Fedya, do you like how Bruce fights in these films?
— Yes! He's so cool! And the way he kicked that guy, with a spin, in a jump...
"Can you do that with your roundhouse kick?" I asked him, smiling slyly.
"Well, not exactly like him, but I can," the boy hesitated slightly.
"Will you show it to Master Bruce? Imagine, later at school you'll be able to tell him that you not only saw Bruce Lee himself, but also fought him!" The boy, overcome with emotion, found no words and merely nodded in agreement. "Oh, I'm even jealous. I wish I'd had such a meeting when I was a child! But, unfortunately, when I was born 'there,' Bruce had already been dead for some years."
"Bruce," I said to the Chinese man in English, "Fedya's seen your films and admires you. He's been learning your spinning kick and would like to show it to you. Try to counter it, but be serious, don't insult the guy with disdain. He may be small, but he's a warrior!"
"Okay, Victor, I'll be serious," Bruce nodded to me and stood at attention.
"Well, Fedya, show him your best punch! Just use your full power, you don't want to embarrass yourself, do you?" I said to the boy. He frowned and nodded seriously. Then he stood opposite Bruce and nodded. Then he assumed a fighting stance... well, the way he understood it. Then he shouted loudly, imitating Bruce himself from the movies, jumped more than a meter into the air, and slammed his leg into the Chinese man's hard block with a spinning motion.
Bruce held his ground, but he was forced to retreat three steps, jumping back to absorb the force of the blow, he was so strong. And I lowered the camera I'd prepared earlier.
Bruce bowed deeply and very, very respectfully, truly respectfully, to Fedya, performing a kung fu salute. The boy, after a slight hesitation, repeated the gesture as best he could, but very diligently.
I snapped another photo. Then Bruce signed his plane ticket; since I had nothing else at hand, I took a few more photos of them, separately and with my mother. Then the meeting ended. The boy and the woman left to do some other things, and I enjoyed a famous Soviet sparkling water, with and without syrup, with the pennies Natasha kindly provided.
"Master!" Bruce bowed to me with a kung fu salute when the three of us were left alone by the machine. "Thank you for another invaluable lesson. If it hadn't been for your warning about seriousness, that incredible little warrior could have broken my arm or several ribs with one blow. I've learned that combat, no matter how weak the opponent may seem, must be treated with the utmost seriousness... But how? How is that possible? Who is this boy? Do you know him?"
"No," I shrugged, "Natasha, by the way, did you write down their information?"
"I don't. But they'll definitely be checked," she admitted.
"I hope so," I nodded. "After all, I'll definitely have to send him the photos. How else will he brag at school?"
"Okay," Romanova nodded, ticking off the box in her memory.
"You see, Bruce," I smiled wryly, "he was a completely random boy. I wanted to give you a clearer idea (besides what you've already said) of what we're working with. Every child in this country, from three to eleven years old, possesses this kind of power. And you and I came here to teach them Jeet Kune Do! That's our job."
"It's unbelievable..." he tried to imagine the scale of what I had said.
"We will build a Martial Arts Federation in this country from scratch, with the full support and cooperation of the government. Millions will learn your style, Bruce. That's what you dreamed of, right?"
"Yes…" he found himself simultaneously inspired and crushed by what was said, "But you promised me an apprenticeship?"
"I promised, and I'll keep my promise. Long-lived people have a thing about that," I recalled El Sabah Nur's words and smiled to myself. So it turns out I too now counted myself among the "long-lived." "One doesn't preclude the other. But I'm merely a user of other people's styles, which I've studied for many decades, while you are the founder of your own. And I will help you develop it, refine it, and pass it on to others.
"Thank you, Master," he bowed with a kung fu greeting.
"But besides that, you'll have to make films, perform publicly, and promote martial arts in every way possible. So get settled, bring your family. Invite all your students and colleagues who agree to come. It would be a good idea if you sent a similar invitation to your Teacher in China. We'll need assistants, lots of them. There's work for everyone."
"I confirm Comrade Creed's words. You will have full cooperation. You will be able to convey your thoughts and wishes to the state leadership through me. I have been appointed as your supervisor," Romanova said.
"Don't relax," I chuckled. "You'll be working like crazy for me. You won't have time to worry about the little things... Yes. Invite your colleagues from the film industry, too. Chuck, for example," I said, with a bit of emphasis on the name.
That evening, in a hotel room, I dropped from the ceiling behind Bruce and caught him in a chokehold. Then I laid him down on the bed and began administering injections in the right order and places. I won't let this Master die so foolishly. Especially since humanity as a whole is beginning to creep toward a new level of development. Soon, Cap's strength will no longer surprise anyone. And I need assistants capable of working equally with superchildren like I need air. So why should I limit myself to such resources?
And the serum... In the time that has passed since that conversation, I have established its synthesis in Kamar Taj, since many will have to be brought up to speed on physics.
Her secret isn't that important now, as I told Nicole. Even if it's stolen, it won't be a major catastrophe. But let them first try stealing it from the Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension. And then escape from Sabretooth, who's hot on their trail. A very, very angry Sabretooth, who can instantly travel any distance, to any point on Earth...
Chapter 56
In the morning, the same group as the day before pulled up to a huge, brand-new sports complex. A Sports Palace, even. Huge and empty. Almost. A cheerful pensioner was already on duty at the gatehouse, and a shift of guards was on duty in their guardhouse.
Natasha showed her ID, and Bruce and I showed our passports. The attentive woman wrote down all the information, called the appropriate authorities, received confirmation and instructions, and then handed me the keys. Just then, the complex's director arrived and led us to "check in." A quick tour of the complex took over an hour and a half. I was very pleased with the equipment in the wrestling and gymnastics halls: everything was exactly as I would have done it myself. It was practically a scaled-down replica of my Parisian house, with adjustments for a different building, layout, and floor space. Apparently, they were modeled after it.
The office turned out to be the size of a three-room apartment, and it was exactly like one in terms of layout, with a bathroom, shower, kitchen, and even a balcony. However, only the office was furnished, and even then, only the bare minimum.
"Don't get any bad ideas, Comrade Creed," Natasha decided to clarify the matter. "You've been allocated a separate apartment in one of the high-rise buildings, fully furnished and ready for occupancy, but Comrade Stalin personally ordered that the office be made exactly like this when the project was submitted to him for approval..."
"He had reason to. And he was right. I'll live here. And I'll furnish my own," I answered calmly. "Better take care of Bruce. He needs to move his family to the Union."
"Okay," Captain Romanova nodded, "but the apartment will still be yours." I didn't respond, continuing to look around. "The papers will be delivered soon, Comrade Creed." I turned to her and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Plans and developments, everything related to the Second Generation. Many of the documents are marked 'Top Secret,' so they are delivered by a special courier with security and an escort." I nodded slightly, recognizing the familiar Soviet customs. True, in a very relaxed form, specifically for me: here, the papers are delivered to me, not me to the papers. That's already encouraging.
The courier arrived half an hour later: a young man from the First Generation in civilian clothes, with a briefcase, accompanied by burly guys in Red Army uniforms, with AKMSs over their shoulders.
He came, handed the briefcase to Romanova, received her signature on the register and left.
One of the kids with a machine gun remained outside, next to the front door. And apparently the others had organized a vigil, because for all the subsequent days and, consequently, nights, while the documents remained in the office, an armed "guard" remained permanently stationed outside the door.
The three of us spent a week and a half studying and drawing up plans. On the very first day, late in the evening, Suo emerged from the portal directly to us. She looked around, made some calculations, and the "apartment" began to fill with furniture from our New York house, flying in through the portals she opened.
Natasha tried to save face. But Bruce was truly stunned, watching her work. Incidentally, he hadn't met Suo before.
"Suoh, this is Bruce Lee, my student. Bruce, this is Suoh, my wife, who also happens to be the Supreme Sorcerer of Earth," I quickly introduced them, without stopping studying the papers. Suoh smiled sweetly, Bruce nodded slowly. Natasha pretended to be furniture. In other words, she tried to keep a low profile, reasonably fearing jealousy from such a powerful person. She doesn't know, which is completely in vain: for me, there are no other women except my wife in terms of "making advances," a fact Suoh is well aware of. So there's no question of jealousy at all. She'd be more likely to be jealous of me with BI than with any woman, no matter how stunningly sexy she is.
Paperwork... Essentially, the entire concept for raising a generation of "superstars" had already been conceived, developed, and laid out. I only had to make minor adjustments in the areas that concerned me specifically: the Federation, its structure, training regimen, teachers, curricula, assessments, competitions.
The rest... The Central Committee's plan called for recruiting the best Pioneers of the required age category to serve in patrol service alongside the police, granting them the right to use force in accordance with a specially developed patrol service charter. And, accordingly, for intensified combat training specifically for them, as the primary force maintaining order.
The idea, as I greatly feared, wasn't even to completely militarize this generation. On the contrary, the plan was to engage the majority of children in various non-combat activities and clubs. This was precisely what was given the most attention.
This and the moral and educational aspects. And also psychological work. Resolving conflict situations between generations.
That's all, really. The rest is ideology and propaganda—things I don't understand very well, but in this country they understand them very well.
There was another issue that concerned me: the school physical education curriculum. Its adjustment to take into account the new physical fitness of the "super" generation. But here, too, there was already some groundwork: data obtained from observing the First Generation, those same three hundred young women and men who were the first to try the Erskine Diet.
The only thing left was practice and personnel. And "personnel is everything." And personnel was in short supply.
But there was another, more serious question: mutants. It was enough that they existed. And that was a serious question, one to which no one had a ready answer.
I had to call Xavier. Ask him to share his teaching experience... and staff. Essentially, organize a branch of the School for Gifted Teenagers.
More footage... I'm beginning to understand Stalin, who staged a coup d'etat across the entire country just for me. If this continues, I'll soon start doing the same myself...
We spent a week working on plans and paperwork. After which I spent another week "on the phone." Officially. Unofficially, I was zipping around the planet, raising all my connections, negotiating, persuading, negotiating, pleading, coaxing...
The result was twenty-three Masters of various styles from China, Thailand, Japan, Mongolia, Korea, France, Argentina, Brazil, and even the United States. It was an incredible result. And it was just a drop in the ocean.
They all received their dose of serum.
It also turned out that France was needed not only, or even not so much, for my sake, but for the sake of my former students. The KGB managed to find them all. I managed to persuade two-thirds to join my mission. They were also entitled to the "vaccination."
Then the work began...
By the way, Suo wasn't idle either. She negotiated with her former student (or maybe he negotiated with her, which seems more likely) and the Fourth Temple began construction in Moscow. And not far from the Federation Headquarters, where I settled.
Work... a frantic pace, the training regime captured me in its wheels and gears.
It was difficult. Even for my mutant stamina: sixteen hours of daily classes with groups of students, an hour and a half of sleep, two hours with my wife, two hours with my personal students: Bruce, Chuck, Natasha, Peter, and, oddly enough, Steve and Nicole.
I honestly can't imagine what negotiations, concessions, compromises, or whatever else might have gone on at the top level about this, but one day these two simply showed up to my class and asked to join. I nodded, and that added two students. I honestly don't care who I train, even if it's Taskmaster... He came, by the way. More accurately, I scouted him out myself and invited him. To the most "advanced" group. Three hundred First Generation members. It's not that I abandoned them, no. But I physically couldn't give them the workload they deserved.
Before "grafting" him on and taking him on as a personal student, I thought for a long time. Six whole training sessions (I just don't have time to sit with a cigar and pensively watch the sunset, I just don't. So I have to think on the fly).
"Instilled." Because if he starts ruining my life, me personally, I'll kill him. With or without the formula, it won't matter much. But he's a talented guy. He catches on quickly. It's a pleasure working with him.
It happened a year after I started working in the Union. The sun had long since set. The sports complex was empty. Well, except for the old woman guard, quietly tapping her knitting needles to the soft hum of the radio. The guards, the walkers, and me.
Night. Three and a half hours that I can spend on sleep... or on my own development. The choice isn't so obvious, because sometimes I spend it on development, and sometimes on sleep. True, the latter happens rarely, when I'm completely exhausted by children's groups.
Today was not that case. Today I was working out. In the darkness of a huge gym. Alone. In silence.
I was practicing the twenty-fourth form of tai chi chuan. Some might say there are many other forms, other styles, but I was practicing this one. I really wanted to.
The rope swung. It fluttered like a volleyball net in the wind, but quickly settled. A basketball rolled across the room. The floorboards began to creak. A barely audible, unpleasant ringing sound appeared in my ears, the "wall" in my mind began to tremble, and a ripple ran through the "water running down it." The hair on my head began to move slightly, as if a breeze were playing with it, which in fact wasn't there. A strange sensation. The ball, having reached the opposite wall, hit it and, like a cannonball fired from a cannon, flew in the opposite direction. Right at my head. Surprisingly, following the form, I shifted just slightly, just enough that the ball flew a couple of millimeters from the bridge of my nose, right in front of my eyes, but didn't hit me. A couple more movements, and the form came to an end. I found myself in the starting position, slowly exhaled, and lowered my arms.
At the entrance to the hall, I heard the soft footsteps of someone light. Voices, soft as whispers, echoed in the darkness. Voices that, if you listened closely, could be recognized as the people they belonged to... dead people. People I'd killed. The shadows thickened and took on an unwelcoming appearance. The "wall" in my mind stopped shaking, but the "sky" above it turned blood-red. The hairs on my body, like a cat's fur, stood on end.
The footsteps were getting closer, but I couldn't see who they were coming from. They were already very close, right in front of me, but there was no one there. The "footsteps" passed right through me, as if I weren't there, or they weren't there. They passed and continued on toward the wall.
I assumed a Qigong stance and began to circulate Qi throughout my body. I used the technique of clearing my mind. But the "sky" remained red.
I heard the soft creaking of a rope. A rope tied to the top crossbar of a gate, from which the body of a girl hanged by the Nazis swayed slowly in the wind. I heard this sound on one of the farmsteads, of which not even a name remained. And for a long time afterwards, I tried to forget it... as did the hum of the wind in the charred chimneys that remained in the places of villages burned to the ground. And this hum, too, was heard in the viscous darkness of the empty night hall.
Qigong wasn't helping. I folded my hands in front of my chest and began chanting Buddhist mantras, trying to drown out the Zen-like creaking of the hemp rope with my own voice.
I heard guttural German speech, the barked commands of a non-commissioned officer, the cries and screams of women, then the sharp crackle of a Schmeisser and barked commands, no longer accompanied by the women's cries... I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sound of my own voice... but the "heaven" remained red. And the "water" flowing down the wall began to turn the color of blood.
My concentration was shattered by the barbell, which pierced my body like a needle through a butterfly. The whispers, the sounds of women and children crying, and Nicole's muffled screams from behind the wall came thick and fast.
I grabbed the bar protruding from my chest and slowly, with effort, began to pull it out, focusing now on the pain, hoping that at least the pain would drown out these Zen sounds. In response to the pain, a searing rage rose up. Not the "Beast," no, my own rage. Powerful, burning, like acid. I growled, continuing to pull the bar out of my chest. The "wall" in my mind collapsed completely under the onslaught of spilled rage, which shot up in fiery tongues all the way to the "sky." Rage! Pain! Rage and more rage! Nothing else remained in my mind. No "sky," no "earth," no "walls," no "water"—nothing, only the roaring flames of rage.
The vulture left my body and fell to the floor with a clang. I roared and growled at the top of my lungs and my voice, generously, unstintingly, pouring in Qi, which, like a flame of rage in my mind, swept everything around me. My kick sent the vulture flying and embedded itself a third of its length in the wall above the head of the red-haired girl, who had just entered the room at that moment, crouching down.
"It seems I'm at the wrong time," she squeaked quietly.
"Come in, Jin," he said, instantly calming down, literally extinguishing the flame of rage with a "slap of his hand" and just as quickly returning the "wall" to its place, having become twice as high and three times thick, and covering it all from above with a darkened, opaque dome from the sky, which was beginning to turn red again, "Hello."
"Uncle Vitya, I feel bad," she said plaintively.
"I already understand," I chuckled in response. "Come in, sit down," I nodded toward the mats, which had been stacked before, now torn and thrown against the wall, leading the way by sitting down. I sighed heavily, realizing that my training session was over, and the Arctic Fox was creeping up on Earth. A redhead, so sad...
- I…
"The power is getting out of control, isn't it?" I asked her. The girl nodded sadly.
"I'm scared, Uncle Vitya... I almost killed Scott during training. All my friends avoid me like I have the plague. Every time I go anywhere, they attack me. Or run away in terror..."
"It's hard to blame them," I chuckled, watching the shadows thicken in the corners again, a basketball roll across the floor by itself, a rope snake up to the ceiling, splinters and small objects slowly rising into the air, which filled with the whispers of the dead... Brutal. What will happen when Wanda starts to come into her own? And she'll come to me too... Nooo, I'll have to dump her on Suo. Let him sort it out. This red-haired wonder is more than enough for me. "You came to me, not Charles. Why?"
"Professor... he's helping me. It gets better... for a little while... then again. And then it gets worse... I'm angry. I snap at everyone for no reason... I said such things to Mr. McCoy... Kitty..."
"So Xavier didn't tell you, huh?" I smiled sadly. "Why did you come to me? What do you expect from me? What kind of help?"
— I... don't know... Mr. Howlett... told me.
"What did he say?" I asked, genuinely interested, feeling myself begin to rise. I extended my toe claws and dug them into the floor. It looked like I was still sitting calmly on the mats, but in reality, I was hanging by my claws, the way Hank McCoy likes to hang from the ceiling. My muscles were strong enough for it.
I was extremely curious about what Logan could say about me.
"Go see Victor with your problems! And I'm all snotty! And get to the runway! And if you don't make it in a minute, you'll be trying to make it in the morning!" the girl recited, looking away. I "fell" on my back, clutching my stomach and laughing uncontrollably.
"Well, Logan! You're such a son of a bitch!" I managed to choke out. Then the claws broke loose and I fell into the ceiling, abruptly cutting off my laughter. I unstuck, extended my claws, and, using my hands, crawled along the ceiling, crossed to the wall, and climbed back up to the floor, stopping somewhere at the level of the girl's face.
The girl watched my actions, her eyes wide with shock. Apparently, she hadn't expected such a stunt from me. She was especially struck by the way I turned my head toward her at an angle no normal person would ever dream of. And I still managed to talk while doing it.
"Sit down, Jin. This laughter isn't directed at you. Your problem isn't funny at all."
The girl, who had jumped up from her seat, sat back down, frowned and asked.
- So he's right? Do you know something?
"I know," I said, not trying to hide it or make any excuses. "Charles didn't tell you that your strength is Omega-level."
"Omega? Me?" she was stunned. The glass in the room shook and the roof creaked. The basketball was already rolling along the ceiling. So was everything that wasn't bolted to the floor or walls. Except for the mats the girl was sitting on. I gripped the wall tighter, pressing my whole body against it except for my head, which remained turned toward Gina. The whispers of the dead became clearer, turning into quite audible voices, screams, groans, curses... The "heavens" above my "dome" were turning crimson and bleeding.
"Yes, Jean. Omega-level. You're stronger than Erik and Charles combined. And that's a problem."
- But how...
"Charles blocked most of your powers in your head when you were a child, and now the blocking isn't working and won't work," I explained. I remember we argued until we were nearly hoarse about whether to block or not. There were a lot of pros and just as many cons. The girl herself put an end to the argument when everyone in the mansion, except for me and Xavier, fell to the floor, clutching their heads, and the mansion itself began to slowly rise out of the ground, rising into the air.
Xavier "helped" the girl, and I left, still sticking to my opinion, bluntly stating that with this "help" he only aggravated and delayed the problem, rather than solving it.
And now the girl has grown up, the blockage is bursting at the seams, and the problem from Xavier came to me. On its own. On its own.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about killing her at that moment. The temptation to solve the problem quickly, radically, and reliably was so strong that I dug my right hand into my left shoulder, extending my claws to their full length, and squeezed my eyes shut. The pain and the renewed rage dispelled the bloody haze from the "heavens" of my mind, and I relaxed a little.
A simple solution. A quick, easy way out. Completely logical and justified, since even in the canon comics, it all ended with her murder. But before that, an entire star, one Star Empire, and five billion sentient beings had perished…
I don't care about them. I don't know them. But I know her. Logan and I taught this little girl to ride a bike, took her fishing, taught her how to do somersaults, and showed her how to properly roast fish over a fire…
I couldn't.
Didn't kill.
"We are responsible for those we have tamed." And nothing else.
"So what should we do?" the girl asked plaintively.
"Study," I sighed, "Study. But not here."
"Where?" she asked in surprise.
"Give me your hand," I said, sliding to the floor and propping myself upright using my toes as leverage. I then offered her my right hand. The girl looked at it and, horrified, recoiled: my hand was covered in blood. I caught myself, put my right hand behind my back, and looked at my left: it was also covered in blood. Well, what can you do if I used them to pull the barbell out of my chest? I sighed and wiped my hands on my pants—the only piece of clothing I had on during the workout. I usually wore red shorts with a hammer and sickle, but today they were drying after being washed.
After that he extended his hand again.
Gina hesitated a little, but still placed her small hand into my paw.
"Close your eyes," I ordered. She complied with a sigh. Bang! And we're in Kamar Taj.
"How are we?.. Where?.." she started, letting go of my hand and looking around wildly. The stones around us began to shift and rise. The pressure on my mind intensified. The "heavens" were starting to turn crimson again. I myself was starting to be lifted off the ground. I immediately fell on all fours and dug my claws into the earth.
"Uncle Vitya, are you and Kurt related by any chance?" Gina asked with amused suspicion, having recovered from her surprise.
"Not with Kurt. But with one of you other X-Men, it might very well be," I chuckled, starting to move toward Suoh's house, still in the same four-point position, gripping the stones under my feet tightly as I continued to be pulled upward. Zen! Born to crawl, doesn't want to fly!!! Or, as Logan likes to say, "If God wanted me to fly, he would have made me with wings." So, albeit with some damage to my prestige and authority, I moved quickly, literally skimming the ground.
"Why?" Gina asked curiously.
"I've had a good time in my time. In America and Asia. I even made a quick stop in Old Europe. And the X-gene, as Xavier claims, is hereditary."
"And how long ago was that? 'Your time'?" she squinted, trying to keep up with me, which meant she had to practically run.
"A hundred, a hundred and eighty years ago. Or a hundred and ninety," I thoughtfully calculated.
— Such a big spread?
— Well, I wasn't just "having fun" for years. I was an active man. And irresponsible.
"I find it hard to imagine you like this, Uncle Vit," the girl shivered. "This is Tibet, after all. It's a bit cooler here than in the heated sports complex."
"A steady woman changes a man. And anyway, a hundred years is a long time..." I responded, running and crawling to the threshold of Suo's house. Oh, I have a feeling this arrival of mine will come back to haunt me more than once. I'll remember how I crawled to her "when the pressure was on." "Suo!" I called loudly, moving through the threshold into the house.
"Victor?" the Ancient One asked in surprise, emerging from her room. "What are you doing on the floor? Did something happen, or are you just playing around? I'm not that busy. We can 'play,' Kitty!"
"We'll play later," I didn't refuse, especially since it was a good idea. "Open a portal to the desert, to where Old Man Nur died. I need your help."
"Okay," Suo didn't argue and immediately raised the double ring, beginning to outline a fiery circle in which sand was visible, "Will you fill me in on the situation?"
"Jean, enter the portal quickly," I ordered. The girl (though what kind of girl was she—fourteen years old? More like a teenager. But still, to me, a girl) darted like a mouse into the fiery circle. I leaped after her, tried to cling to the ground, but failed: my fingers only grasped helplessly at the sand, and I soared like a bird. With a decent acceleration. Not nine or eight meters per second, of course, but two or three for sure.
It must have looked incredibly funny. And it felt that way, too. It was a strange feeling... but there's no such thing as a good thing: I wasn't born to fly. Not without a parachute or wings, at least (I remember enjoying hang gliding). I "leaped" toward the ground and quickly began digging into the sand until I reached a dense layer of clay. That's where I clung, sinking my feet knee-deep into it.
"Victor, you always surprise me with new and new talents," Suo admired. "When did you learn to fly?"
"Open the Mirror Dimension, please," I didn't fall for her joke.
"You can't stand magic, can you?" she asked in surprise.
"But I love the Earth. And I really don't want it to accidentally split. Will you open it?" I looked at her sullenly. My "Heavens" were growing ever more crimson, and the "bloody rain" had begun again. The voices of the dead were becoming clearer and louder. The hallucinations were about to begin. Gina's gift was truly terrifying. And Suo should have felt it by now, too.
The smile vanished from her face. She frowned, and we were swallowed by the Mirror Dimension, causing a surge of magic to spark a wild rage within me that helped clear my head a little.
"What's going on, Victor?" she asked, putting up some kind of shield.
"The Omega Mutant's power block is wearing off, that's what's happening," I growled. "You better get out of here. I'll go home on my own."
"Okay, Victor. I'll wait for you at Kamar Taj," Suo didn't argue, opening a portal and leaving through it.
"Your wife is scary," Gina remarked when we were alone.
"I wasn't afraid of my woman either," I snorted. "In short: there's no one here except us. Any destruction of this place won't affect the normal world. Your power won't hurt anyone. You can relax."
— And you?
"I'll survive, don't worry. If I get sick, I'll run away."
- Well, you're a big boy. You'll figure it out yourself.
— How is your telepathy?
- What is it?
-Can you reach Charles?
— I'll try. Why?
"Let him slowly weaken the block. If you break it now, and you can, there's a high probability you'll suffer mental damage. Better not risk it. So let Xavier into your head and don't resist."
"Okay," Gina sighed, sat down on the sand and closed her eyes.
"Get up! You'll catch a cold!" I ordered sternly. The girl stood up with displeasure. The desert at night is no resort.
Gina dusted off her pants, stood up straighter, and closed her eyes. I'm not a telepath. All I know in this regard is how to defend and counterattack when a channel is already opened by another telepath. So I have no idea what was going on in Gina's head the whole time we stood facing each other in the desert. She was simply on the sand, and I was buried almost waist-deep. But what was starting to happen around me was eerie.
At first, even the slightest wind died down. The air simply froze around me, becoming viscous, like jelly. It immediately became warmer. Then sand began to rise into the air. This rise, like a wave, began to spread outward in an ever-widening circle from the center, which was Gina. The phenomenon intensified, gained momentum, and now the entire desert, as far as the eye could see, was lifted into the air: sand, rocks, stunted bushes… and I, too, was lifted off the ground.
Then Gina herself took off. Still without opening her eyes, she opened up and surrendered to the will of her power.
"Victor, I'm barely holding her back," Charles's voice struggled through the continuous bloody downpour pounding my "dome," turning the wasteland surrounding my wall into a sea as crimson as the "heaven." He wasn't trying to break through the "wall." He was "knocking on the window," leaving the words before him. "Act!" He didn't need to be told twice. He leaped close to her, and struck her with Qi from both palms pressed to her temples. Not strong, but enough to "switch off" consciousness.
I gently picked up the limp body and "jumped" with it into Kamar-Taj. And from there back to Moscow, to my gym.
She woke up on the mats half an hour later.
"I..." she opened her eyes and saw me calmly performing a karate kata. At a leisurely pace, but putting all my energy into every movement. "Uncle Vitya? I dreamed the whole thing, didn't I?"
"No," I answered, without interrupting the series of movements, "It's all true."
— But... how am I?..
- Charles started to lose control, and I knocked you out.
"I see," she thought, "So nothing worked out?"
— Why? The block has been weakened and fixed at a "new level." Your strength has increased and is not yet exploding out of control. Master it. Train. When you're ready, come and we'll continue.
"I'll come," she rose from her swearing, "Grandpa!"
"Even if that's true, then at least a great-grandfather. Many, many times 'great.' I 'roamed' in America during the American Revolution. You can count the generations yourself."
- Nerd.
"Hello Logan," I ignored her attack.
The girl ran away, and I remained, furiously beating the air. It has terrifying power. It penetrates any block, seeps through, draws out images, stirs wounds... And this is just an echo, a small part, breaking through completely uncontrollably.
A terrible creature - an omega mutant. Very terrible.
Now I'll have to get my head straight for days. I don't even know what I'm more drawn to: sit down and howl at the moon with boredom, or go and tear a couple of battalions of soldiers to shreds...
So, as Sakaki Shio, a hundredth-dan Karate Master from Washi-sensei's favorite anime, used to say: "Kill the makiwara, kid! Kill the makiwara..."